Disinhibition Day
The whisper told him what to do. Be gentle. Share. Step back. Don’t touch. He had learned to pause before moving, to expect the small voice’s pulse in his ear. When he obeyed, everything stayed smooth. People smiled. Time went on.
Then, one morning, nothing.
The silence was perfect, like air after rain.
He stood in the playground, watching. The other children moved strangely, as if rules still bound them. He realised there were no rules now, only things: bright, solid, waiting.
He began to run. A body brushed his; another fell, slow, smooth, inevitable. He picked up a stone and threw it through a window. The glass broke with a beautiful crack.
The world had never been so exact. Sunlight struck the ground and every grain of gravel caught it. He felt his heartbeat, steady and immense.
He was glorious. Nothing resisted him. The teachers were shouting, but their words belonged to the wind. He could not tell what they meant, nor did he care.
He thought: this is me: what it’s like when I’m me. It was simple.
He walked to the fence, placed his hand on the metal, felt the sun’s heat. He smiled. The whisper was gone. The day was white and endless, and good.
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